Playboys
by LadyKF
Summary: It was Valentine's fault, even thirty years later. (In which young Veld posed for PlayGirl, and his Turks found out.)
1. Chapter 1

"Oh my god."

The words were not, generally, good ones to hear in the Turk office. There had never been much discussion of gods, no, but it was the _scandalized_ tone that caught attention. Emma was staring at one of the old magazines that she'd been flipping through, trying to look up some old propaganda, but something else had caught her eye. "Oh. my. _god."_

"Is that good?" Cissnei ventured, edging her way. She peered over the blonde's shoulder and felt her eyes widening. "I… _wow._ That's…"

"It _is!"_ Emma agreed, nodding quickly. "I just… I had no _idea."_

"That's… one for the record books," she managed, a slow smile curving her lips. "I'm pretty sure I should feel uncomfortable looking at this. He's practically my dad."

 _That_ got even more attention, as there could only be one person Cissnei meant after being raised in the Turks. Reno kicked off Rude's desk, riding his chair back over. "Lemme see, yo… holy _shit._ Partner, c'mere."

Rude sighed, giving him a briefly annoyed look over his shades before hefting up from his desk to come see. Regardless of their comments, he was not expecting what he saw.

The half-dressed, unblemished figure was at once strange and all too familiar, tan and leanly muscled. Why they had an old PlayGirl in the archives was a discussion for another day, no one could look away from the picture on the front. It wasn't even a sexual _undertone_ , the whole cover was unapologetically charged with it from his posture to the look on his face, even the artful bed-head tousle of thick brown hair. He was standing with a hip cocked to the side, a hand resting there and the other letting his gun dangle from his fingertips in a way that was oddly suggestive. His jeans were slung low on his hips, cutting a dark contrast to muscle tanned an eye-catching gold, attention drawn low by the holster on his thigh. More than one person in the department would have thoroughly enjoyed that, actually, if it wasn't for the one glaring fact. For all he'd changed over the years, it was undeniably _Veld._

"Oh my god," Emma repeated breathlessly.

"He will _kill you_ if he sees this," Rude managed.

"I… yeah. Yeah, I'll just…" her eyes drifted to the shredder and she bit her lip. It seemed such a _waste…_

"This is so wrong." Cissnei tore her eyes away, covering them with a giggle. "Oh wow. Okay. Just… we won't mention it. Don't tell Tseng."

"Don't tell Tseng _what?"_ The Commander paused in the doorway, looking the four of them over.

"It will break your _brain,_ " Cissnei warned. "It _will._ "

"I am professionally concerned," he decided.

"Man, ain't nothin' professional about that." Reno shook his head, grinning. "Let the bossman see if he wants."

"You'll regret it," Cissnei said, stepping away as he came over to look. "Tseng, don't-"

Tseng made a quiet, somewhat strangled sound in the back of his throat, closing his eyes after getting a look at the cover. "I don't want to know. In fact, I don't know. Make sure I continue not to."

"Yessir, Commander." Reno grinned, plucking the magazine out of Emma's loose grasp. "I'll just take care of this contraband."

"Reno!"

"Talk t' me later, Em." The senior Turk winked, snickering all the way back to his desk. He wasn't sure how this would come in handy, but you just didn't waste this kind of intel. And he was pretty sure the boss wouldn't shoot him for it. Mostly. Still, better not leave it in the office. When there was an assignment shuffle and he was put on guard for the vice president, he stuffed it in his mission duffle without another thought.

* * *

Rufus was the special, spectacular kind of bored that came from being under guard and away from anything remotely enjoyable for several hours. It was especially annoying because generally when Reno was his guard things were more lively. But the redhead hadn't actually been on rotation, having to switch out with someone else last minute and tromping up to his suite with his go-bag before slouching down to mess around on his phone. "What do you even have on there?"

"Playin' _Angry Chocobos,_ right now." Reno shrugged, not glancing up from his screen. "Decent time sink, don't feel like readin' right now."

"What, you actually brought something other than paperwork that you _could?"_ Rufus scoffed, side-eyeing his bag. "Comics?"

"Got a graphic novel I'm gettin' through, don't knock it," Reno muttered, shifting a little to get better light on his screen.

"And how graphic, I wonder." Rufus got up, desperate for _something_ , and unzipped the bag - lack of protest was practically consent at this point, as well as Reno knew him - and paused. "… well now, that's not the kind of graphic I was imagining at all."

Something in his voice had Reno looking up quickly, barely having a moment to think _'oh shit'_ as Rufus pulled out the PlayGirl he'd taken from Emma earlier in the day. The one with his boss looking much less professional than the old man would have _ever_ okay'd Rufus seeing. "Uhh…"

Rufus took a moment to admire the magazine, smoothing a hand over the top. " _Nineteen seventy-three_ … this isn't manipulated, is it? This is a legitimate magazine."

"Rufus…"

"And that's _Veld,_ isn't it?" Rufus grinned, slow and wicked. "My, but he _was_ always impressive, wasn't he? I don't think that pistol was the gun people were staring at. How did you get this?"

"Contraband." He licked his lips, not sure exactly how to work this out. Obviously he had to get the physical evidence out of Rufus' hands, but there was no taking the knowledge of its _existence_ back. "You know he can make more'n _my_ life hard, right? He is _not_ a man you wanna bait, Rufus."

"I bet he made a lot of things hard." Rufus smirked, shaking his head. "So he doesn't know you have this, hm? And you'd really, really like to keep it that way."

"Yeah," Reno agreed slowly. "I would. That'd be the smart thing t' do."

"The smart thing, Reno, would have been to lock this away for a rainy day." Rufus made a thoughtful sound, looking at him a moment before looking back to the picture. "So, how much is my silence worth to you?"

* * *

It took three days, a damn good bottle of wine (for Rufus, never mind he had no business drinking) and some paint-peeling vodka (for himself because Rufus was even worse when he was tipsy) and some illegal activity that Tseng would chew him out for if the SOLDIERs he'd spied on didn't gut him themselves, but Reno had the magazine back in his hands and this time he buried the damn thing deep in his lockbox at home.


	2. Chapter 2

It was one of those days. Drizzly outside. Dreary, even for Midgar. Kinda quiet. Paperwork-heavy. A lot of the team was in-office, doing up reports between assignments, checking in or waiting to once the boss got back in. Veld came in from his own duties minding the president and vice president, and took a moment to look over his people. But he didn't go to his office. He stopped over at the coffee station, pouring a mug and mixing in enough sugar to make his teeth ache before bringing it over to Reno's desk and setting it down with a quiet _chink_.

Reno glanced up, not surprised Veld knew how he'd want his mid-day fix so much as he'd been brought a cup. He offered his boss a crooked grin, leaning back in his seat. "Hey chief. Thanks for the coffee."

"Uh huh." Veld gestured for him to take a sip, gloved fingertips brushing the desk as he waited.

The first twinge of anxiety tugged at Reno's gut, instinct saying something was up. But he took a drink, making a satisfied sound. "'s good."

"Good. I like it when things are good." Veld tapped his fingers lightly. "So I've heard you're in possession of a particular magazine, Reno."

Reno didn't fumble the cup, he wasn't a rookie, but he froze a second too long while his mouth went dry. "… I got a lot of stuff, chief…"

"Reno." Veld arched a brow, watching him. "There's a particular magazine that was misfiled in our archives that was last seen in your possession."

"Right… yeah." Reno didn't squirm, he'd been trained better than that, but that steady stare was knotting up his insides. "That."

"Uh huh." There wasn't a hint of a smile or a frown, just seemingly endless patience as Veld watched him. "Where's the magazine, Reno?"

Instinct, unfortunately, took over sense as an immediate protest formed. "Chief, you know I'd _never_ -"

"You wouldn't be thinking of lying to my face, would you?" Veld interrupted smoothly, shifting his weight.

Reno noticed, absurdly, that he rested it on the same leg as the picture. He couldn't think if that was deliberate, or how the old man had always done it. "Uhh…"

"Because it's not your fault it was misfiled, I'm quite confident in exactly what happened. But _if you lie to me,_ Reno, we're going to have a problem," Veld said mildly. There, finally, was a slight smile. There was nothing reassuring about it.

"No problems, chief, it's uh… back at my place. In my safe," Reno admitted, the reflex to cover his tracks quite soundly scared off.

"Mm. Any other copies?" Veld asked.

"Not to my knowledge," Reno said, so very glad he _could_ say so.

Veld nodded, patting the desk. "Alright. Why don't you get that, hm? A little coffee break. Bring it back to my office."

"Sure, chief." Reno nodded, getting up quickly. "I'll get that right now."

"You do that." Veld's smile lost its edge, satisfied, and he nodded politely to him as he passed.

Feeling Veld's eyes on him the whole way out made Reno all the more inclined to hurry.

Across the office, Emma fidgeted slightly in her seat. Sometimes a sense of responsibility was a terrible thing. "Sir… I was the one who found it."

"Oh I'd figured he didn't find it himself," Veld said mildly. "Reno's not one to go that far into those archives. But he's the one we had on little Shinra duty."

Rude made a strangled noise from his desk.

Veld smirked faintly. "Yeah. So that's a thing I'd have rather'd not happen. But it did, and it's certainly no one's fault it was there to begin with. You're not the first generation to screw around, you know."

There was a beat of silence before Cissnei spoke up. "You think that was _deliberate,_ sir?"

"Oh I'm certain that was deliberate," Veld assured her, shaking his head. "That's got 'Valentine' written all over it. It was his fault in the first place."

There was a beat, and more than one person was paying subtle attention. Stories about the things that their boss had gotten up to with his partner were always worth the time to listen to, and the nostalgic, rueful little smirk he had promised a good one.

"Sir?" Emma prodded after a moment, hopeful.

Veld chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Tell you what - you ever come up with the one _Vincent_ did, I'll tell you what happened."


	3. Chapter 3

It took a little over a month, and with how busy everyone was Veld was pretty damn impressed to be presented with the magazine. But he _had_ made a promise, and he was a man of his word.

"Alright, you want the story, huh?" Veld shook his head, getting the magazine out of his desk and putting it side-by-side with the shoot of his partner. "Here's how it went down."

* * *

"So get this," Victor said, coming into the office with a letter. "PlayGirl wants to get some bachelor company reps over for a photo op and PR seems to think it's a good idea."

"That's not gonna end well," Veld predicted. "What'd the pres say?"

"What, you think I'm going to ask him?" He snorted. "No. I'm just telling you. They'll give up. Or maybe pretty boy'll go."

"Alex would have my hide," Vincent pointed out, checking over his gun from where he was perched on Veld's desk. The custom three-barreled piece received even more obsessive attention than his previous guns.

"What, sense from you, _Commander?_ " Anya made an amused sound. "And not under fire. Wonders never cease."

"He's worse under fire," Veld muttered. That was when Vincent got _creative._ And of course he happened to meet his partner's eyes, seeing a little gleam there. "Whatever you're thinkin' the answer is _no."_

"Oh come on," Vincent protested, turning to look at him properly. "Have I ever not had your back?"

"You _get me_ _into trouble_ is what you do," Veld said.

"But have I _ever_ not had your back," Vincent pressed, a slow grin forming as Veld had to pause. Because no, even if trouble was his fault, Vincent had never left him hanging. "Come on. You trust me, right?"

Veld stared at him a long moment before sighing heavily. "Fuck you, Valentine."

* * *

"So what, just like that, he talked you into it?" Reno asked, grinning at the rueful little smirk on Veld's face.

"No, I made him bribe me for a couple weeks before I gave in." Veld shook his head. "It was… an experience."

"All due respect, boss, but you didn't look like it was a hardship," Two Gun pointed out, grinning.

"If you're going to put yourself out there for something, better to commit," Veld advised. "Besides, I got even."

"With that spread your partner did?" Cissnei guessed, gesturing to it.

"You could say that."

* * *

"Faraman. Valentine. My office."

Veld glanced at his partner immediately even as he got up, wondering just what was going on. The director didn't exactly sound pleased and it was awfully early in the day for that.

Vincent shrugged, having no idea, and led the way, coming to a stop in front of her desk while Veld paused to get the door.

Alex looked at Veld briefly and sighed, which confused him because it was usually Vincent who got that reaction, then back at Vincent. Without looking away from him, she reached over to one of her drawers and produced the PlayGirl magazine Veld had posed for. "Really, boys?"

Vincent snorted, rubbing his mouth. "Well. PR thought it was a good idea."

"Oh yes, yes they did," she agreed dryly. "That _does not make it_ a good idea. Because they're not going to stop there. And I am _not_ doing that."

 _Oh._ Oh well. Vincent winced, running a hand back through his hair. "They're after you?"

"Oh yes. They want someone higher tier who can answer actual questions." She tapped at the magazine, looking between them. "And now there's _precedent."_

"Well… that's what you've got a second in command for, right?" Veld suggested, smirking as his partner gave him an incredulous look. "Come on, pretty boy. They'd _love_ you."

"Did you just volunteer me to do a spread in Playgirl?" Vincent asked.

"He did." Alex hummed quietly. "And it's not a bad idea."

"Oh come on, boss," Vincent protested.

"You started it, Vin," Veld defended, grinning. "What's the problem? You'll get people fawnin' all over you. It'll be _fun."_

"It's pronounced 'karma,'" Alex said, smiling faintly. "And I think you'll do just fine. I'll let them know. And you can handle PR."

Vincent groaned.

* * *

"Since I'm certain you looked through the whole spread before bringing it to me, I don't think I have to tell you it was a very thorough photo shoot," Veld observed, smirking. He didn't need to look at it himself, some memories stuck. But he _did_ take both of the magazines and put them in his desk - they'd go in a safe later, not that he thought any of his people would _dare_ go through his desk.

"So was it the magazine he was protesting, or dealing with PR?" Reno asked. PR could be damn scary some days, he wouldn't blame him.

"PR - he enjoyed doing the magazine shoot," Veld assured them, shaking his head. "I assume that little 'misfile' was some attempt to get me back, figuring it would come back to haunt me later. He liked to play the long game."

"Not unlike certain other people," Tseng said mildly.

"No, not at all." Veld smiled fondly, then settled back in his chair. "Alright, back to work. And don't you get any ideas."


	4. Chapter 4

_Ten years later..._

* * *

Meteor had done intense damage to the structural integrity of Midgar, without question the worst damages that had been done to the city. Cloud's fight with Kadaj and Sephiroth two years later had increased damages to the fallen ShinRa Tower, and the fight against Deepground had continued to reduce much of the once-impressive city to so much rubble. In interest of trying to protect people from the unstable mess left behind, the WRO had put up all sorts of barriers, doing their best to keep people from coming in. It didn't stop truly determined scavengers, but it helped.

Of course, knowing what sorts of secrets could be found there, _Reeve_ did occasionally send people, so far as he thought was safe. Vincent, with his unique abilities, was one of the few to go into the areas that had been deemed completely unsafe. Sometimes for Reeve, sometimes for himself. Sometimes, rarely, as a favor to the Turks. Not Rufus' small band, however; he was still wary of them, for the simple fact of who they called _sir,_ but the collection that had defected and to this day still followed his old partner. Veld was slow to ask for anything, so when he did, more often than not Vincent found himself doing what he asked.

Admittedly, getting a hold of the department's classified files was something that he also believed needed done. The chances of anyone else making it that far into the devastated building were slim, but it wasn't impossible, and the part of him that still called the Turks family balked at the thought of leaving it available for anyone to get their hands on.

The instructions were simple enough: get all that he could salvage out, and destroy anything that he couldn't take with him. Old hard drives from computers, flash drives and floppies were set aside to be taken out in a reinforced case, the digitized information by far the easiest to grab. There were entire file cabinets worth of hard copy, however, and he ended up sifting through things to try and determine what was and was not of use. It had been decades since he'd been an active operative, but it felt far shorter, and Veld's system of arranging things hadn't changed a bit.

It would have been tedious work, if it wasn't also very educational, giving him some of the missing pieces of what had happened while he was gone. It helped, and he made a mental note of some of the things he'd want copies of later to revisit in more detail. For now, it was enough to skim things and start building a general picture of how life had been, through a Turk's scope. It was more familiar than he'd expected.

The last thing he got to was heading into the offices themselves, and breaking into the safes. No need to fool with combinations when you could just pry the door off, but he'd had Veld's anyway.

Looking through the safe didn't really have any surprises for him at first; more hard copy, an external hard drive and a stack of discs were all tucked away for safe keeping, until he got to the bottom and paused. A slow smile spread across his face, laughter bubbling up to a low rumble from his chest. _Well_ then, wasn't that a nice surprise? Maybe he'd make the drop off to Veld tonight after all.

* * *

Veld honestly had never expected to be retired. Or rather, to be living his retirement - he'd fully expected to 'be retired' by the company. And in a way, he supposed he had been. He still had the scar from Tseng's bullet as a reminder, but better scarred than dead. He had his daughter back, and they were slowly finding their way around each other again. He had most of his Turks, still, though some were talking about going back to the company now that it truly seemed that Rufus had changed his tune. And he had his partner back, which was a surprise he was still processing. It was strange. Sometimes the years were a gulf between them, but more often than not they fell right back into step, as easy as breathing, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Some bonds were just that strong, he supposed.

Vincent wasn't around as much as he had been back in the day, admittedly; he'd taken to roaming the world, both to catch up on everything he'd missed and because staying stuck to a pattern was something he couldn't make himself go back to yet, not that he'd ever said as much. It was enough to see him every few weeks, for now. Vincent was still able to keep a pace that Veld wasn't up to anymore, and his enhancements meant he pushed the limits even harder than he had before. And once he'd adjusted to the idea that Vincent was finally really able to push that much, that he'd survive it, Veld had let himself ask for some help that he really wasn't sure there was anyone else he'd trust with. Tseng, maybe. He was still loyal, but he didn't want to press and find if he was more loyal to his president or his old mentor.

He wasn't expecting to hear from Vincent for another couple days, so it was a pleasant surprise to get a call that he would be coming by that night after all. He had time to throw together a modest meal, and settled in to wait to see him. As usual, Vincent made his way in precisely when he'd said he would, and not a moment earlier.

"Veld."

If he'd been asked what tipped him off, Veld couldn't have said. Vincent's tone was even, his expression was to that defaulted neutral he kept to these days… there was nothing obvious there. But something tipped him off, and he gave his partner a suspicious look. "Vincent."

There. A hint of a smile, more a light to those familiar red eyes than an actual curve to his lips, but it was proof enough that something was up. Vincent breezed by him, a duffle bag over his shoulder, and headed to the table with it. Veld followed, watching him move, trying to judge the nature of whatever was coming. "You were successful?"

"Of course." Vincent opened the bag, removing several secure cases where he'd likely been storing more fragile electronics. "Very, in fact."

"Very, huh?" Veld arched a brow, coming around the table to watch his face. Vincent's tells were small, almost invisible, but he knew the man better than anybody. Bastard was damn pleased about something. "What'd you do?"

"Just a trip down memory lane. I didn't expect quite so much nostalgia from your safe."

Veld frowned, wracking his mind trying to think of what, exactly, there could possibly -

There was the sound of paper hitting the table, and he looked back over to see two damnably familiar magazines.

Vincent _grinned._ "You missed me, huh?"

Veld groaned, covering his face as if it could keep Vincent from knowing he was smiling. "Yeah, fuck you Valentine."

Vincent's laughter was clear and free like not much could make it anymore, and privately, Veld admitted that maybe he didn't mind quite so much from him.


End file.
